This morning I trimmed and flowered eight family graves along with the other old people. Only the old hear that clock marking the passing of time, tick-tocking ever faster, and so go out to tend the graves to deaden the ticking for awhile. The only young people at the cemetery this morning were those resting beneath the stones. All the graves I tended were natural - except Kirby's and Kristina's. They both died too young. After my work I lingered for a bit, remembering, wishing they were still here. Peace.